


The Final Awakening

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreamed of Daniel. And even in his dreams, he knew he was doing the one thing he swore he would never do. He was leaving someone behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> The first deathfic I ever wrote. It will also be the last.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening. –  Sir Walter Scott.

 

 

 

He awoke to morning sunlight striking off the blinds and painting stripes on the wall. He waded through drowsiness to awareness. Bedroom. Home. Their home. Not hospital. The sheets felt deliciously soft and cool beneath his hands. He moved his fingers slowly, back and forth, feeling the dense weave of cotton beneath. It wasn’t harsh and starched. It didn’t smell of detergent. Instead, he inhaled the delicate scent of freesias and turned his head slowly to see a small bunch nestling in a glass vase on the nightstand.

He smiled through dry lips.

He’d loved them all his life, ever since his grandmother had told him they were her favorite. He hadn’t taken a grand wreath to her funeral; he’d carried freesias in vibrant purple, cheerful yellow and sunset red. He’d clutched them as they’d said the words, let their delicate scent take away the overpowering smell of the death-announcing lilies and the even more overwhelming feeling of loss for a wonderful woman.

Freesias. And of course they were here now.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the world outside as they filtered in from the open windows.

God, but he loved summer. He heard the sounds of the world going on as it always did; the distant, lazy drone of a lawnmower, the sibilant hiss of a water sprinkler next door and the rhythmic patter of the drops as they missed the grass and hit the driveway. He heard children’s squeals and the bark of a big dog. He heard the gentle swish of wind in trees.

The world was going on, lives were being lived even as his was slipping away. He wanted to store it all, all the sounds, the images, imprint them in his brain so that he could take them with him, so that the mundane, the ordinary, every little thing that went into making the everyday could be a part of him always.

He licked chapped lips slowly and felt his head being raised, a glass of gloriously cool water held to his mouth. He sipped. The hand that held his head laid him gently down again and wondrously comforting fingers soothed over his brow.

Through the depths of  his exhaustion, confusion and sense of other-worldliness, he reached for a single moment of lucidity. He forced open eyes longing only to close again, focused on that beloved face, so familiar and known and loved, and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, not really knowing whether he made a sound or not.

The smile he received in return was blinding in its love. That quirky, half-smile that he had seen a million times and wanted to see a million times more. It was everything.

“Hey yourself.”

He tried for more but the battle was lost before it even began. He relaxed into himself. He was safe here. He was loved here.

He thought he heard a distant rumble of thunder and remembered how much he loved storms. His mom had been so angry that time he’d run out into the yard with his dog, whose name he couldn’t recall, into the heavy rain to whoop and laugh and turn his face to the heavens. He’d gone back in drenched and delighted and energised in a way he’d never be able to articulate.

He turned his head slightly on the pillow, wondering why it was raining inside and his mom was touching his face with such tenderness to take away the wetness.

He dreamed of sky and stars and eagles soaring and swooping. He saw himself standing on a cliff edge, young and whole and happy, arms outstretched like an aspiring Icarus, ready to defy the Gods. All he had to do was fly …

 

>>>>>>

 

He awoke to evening and the muted sound of a TV and voices. The blinds were closed but the windows were still open. He could smell the rich, invigorating scent of damp earth; that unmistakable scent of parched soil drinking in moisture. So there had been a storm. He must have missed the worst of it.

He strained to hear the sounds of the house. Crockery was chinking in the kitchen, cabinets were opened and closed. Voices rose and fell in a curiously comforting musical cadence. Perhaps if he concentrated hard enough he could tell who was speaking.

A bass rumble; a woman’s higher, lighter tones and another voice he would have recognised anywhere in any universe. Soft snatches of conversation lost somewhere in the befuddling mist of his senses. He knew those voices. It felt right that they filled their home now.

The smell of cooking filtered into the bedroom; garlic, herbs, rich scents heavy with the weight of memory and meals shared and enjoyed. Such a pity he felt so nauseous.

He listened as the kitchen noises quieted and the sound of cutlery on porcelain filled the space they left behind. More snatches of conversation. Why was there no laughter? There was always laughter when those voices mingled and blended. There should be laughter. This house was no place for sadness or silence and whispers.

He remembered cook-outs and children running in the yard, and someone’s dog snatching steaks and burgers and being chased away. And music, there was always music. People dancing into the dark hours, swaying lovers and little children dancing on their parents’ feet as they fought to stay awake and stay with the grown-ups just a little longer. Just a little while longer.

He wanted to stay. Oh God but he wanted to stay.

He felt himself drifting into sleep and wanted to fight it but it seemed easier to let it take him. Just for a while. Just a while.

 

>>>>>

 

He awoke to darkness alleviated only by the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand.

He knew he’d been asleep but he still felt drowsy, as though no matter how long he slept, he would never feel truly rested or truly awake again.

There was music playing somewhere and he knew that he knew it but he couldn’t quite place it.

A strong, aching voice, filled with pain and passion and longing and love. It soared to the heights and fell again, just as serenely and beautifully in a wonderfully moving cadenza. It was opera. If he thought really hard, he could identify the piece, he knew he could. The title rustled on the edges of his awareness but he couldn’t bring it forth. It stayed there, tantalizingly out of reach. It didn’t matter. He let the sound bathe him. He loved this music and had for a very long time.

He’d listened to this work so many times; at the lake when he was there alone with no-one for miles, the volume turned to ear-splitting levels; after the funeral, when everyone had had to leave the house because they couldn’t bear to be there any more. But he hadn’t been able to leave. He’d turned the sound as loud it would go and sat on the floor in the room where it had happened and he’d let the powerful vocals drown out the wrenching sounds of his tears and his shouted pleas for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He thought he was speaking to him. To Charlie. His son. His lost, beautiful, wonderful son.

But the voice that calmed and soothed and reassured wasn’t Charlie’s. The hand that held his wasn’t Charlie’s. Charlie wasn’t here and yet he was sure he’d felt him in the room. If he reached out he was absolutely certain he’d feel the softness of his hair, the smoothness of his cheek. God how he wanted to touch him one more time. One touch to tell him everything.

No. Charlie wasn’t here. But he wasn’t alone and so he was safe. He closed his eyes. It was safe to rest.

 

 

>>>>>>>>

 

He awoke to darkness. He turned his head to see light under the bedroom door from the hallway.

Beside him, he felt, rather and saw the body curled on its side, facing him. With enormous effort, he turned on to his side until they were mere inches apart.

He scanned that beloved face in the darkness. Sleep had eased away the lines put there by the years and now by this impending loss. Another one. He would have made any kind of Faustian pact to spare him this.

He reached out an unsteady hand to trace an eyebrow, a cheek, lips, and then he did it again.

Eyes opened, fixed on him after taking a moment to focus. Then they smiled.

“Hey, you. Need anything?”

“Water.  Cabin. A good fu--.” The words were slurred and slow but they provoked a small laugh. A precious commodity.

“First one, no problem. Second could be arranged. The third ….”

“Spirit, flesh …” His voice was failing.

“I’ll get you that drink.”

The bed dipped and he closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds, dreaming of sunshine on the water, the call of the loons, of lazy, laughter-filled lovemaking on the dock and how their cries of completion had frightened the small waders. He dreamt of intense loving by the log fire, of kisses shared in rowboats, of books read on the porch and of fish cooked on open fires.

He dreamed of Daniel. And even in his dreams, he knew he was doing the one thing he swore he would never do. He was leaving someone behind.

 

>>>>>>

 

He awoke to morning from hours or minutes of troubled dreams and images, from the confusion of that indeterminate time between sleep and waking. Time was so fluid it meant nothing now.

He grasped for the pictures his mind had created most recently; fleeting glimpses of armor-clad warriors and weapon blasts; of screams and cries and dead men with soulless open eyes; of blood-soaked children and weeping women; of burns and pain and tears and goodbyes.

He reached for his chest, clutching for something he felt should have been there and fought the rising panic when his fingers touched only skin.

He gasped, felt his heart race and only began to calm when he felt thin, cold metal pressed gently into his hand. He clasped it to his chest so hard the chain left an imprint on his hand. This felt right. They would know who he was; who he had been.

Soft, reassuring words were spoken and his hand was held tightly, anchoring him. The dreams receded, his breathing eased and, for the first time in who knew how long, he felt remarkably better. Only a little pain when he moved. The nausea was gone. He felt … lighter somehow.

A blessedly cool, damp cloth was wiped across his face, a kiss was placed on his brow and, quite unexpectedly, his senses sharpened, heightened. It was like moving from murky shade into brilliant light. His world came into focus.

Sara was sitting beside his bed. No, not Sara. Sara was gone, he knew that.

It was Carter.

Sam.

He felt her thumb rub across the back of his hand in a gesture he knew. “It was an honor,” he said, softly.

“Yes, sir. It was.”  There were tears in her voice but it was still strong.

He turned his head slightly. A comforting presence stood vigil at the foot of the bed.

He smiled again and nodded his head in acknowledgement of so much.

“No singing. Okay?” His voice was cracked and thin. He wasn’t sure he recognised it anymore.

Teal’c inclined his head slightly, a gesture which moved him more than he could ever have explained.

And then his eyes rested on Daniel. Oh, Daniel, his Daniel. His heart and soul.

They locked eyes. They smiled. In a fleeting second they shared a lifetime of hellos and goodbyes, of I love yous and need yous.

“You look tired, baby.” Daniel’s voice, so familiar and cherished.

“Yeah.”

He felt the mattress dip and those strong arms enfolded him. Such a gift, to be enveloped in love and warmth and strength. He was rocked as gentle kisses rained on the top of his head.

“It was worth it,” he whispered. “Everything. It was worth it.”

He was amazed at how easy this really was.

Words were whispered into his hair, his ear, his neck; half-remembered. Ancient Egyptian, he thought. He’d heard Daniel say them before. Couldn’t remember when. So long ago. Didn’t matter now. Nothing did. Only this. Only love.

He closed his eyes and flew.

 

ENDS


End file.
